Code of Silence
by coffeeandcandles
Summary: Blaine walks into the Hummel Hudson home to find the last thing he ever expected, or wanted, to see. Warnings for non-graphic descriptions of rape. ON HIATUS!
1. Chapter 1

It was a beautiful evening for early February, and Blaine hummed mindlessly and happily to himself as he walked upstairs to Kurt's room. Mr. Hummel and Mrs. Hudson-Hummel trusted him with his own key, now. His new family, and his Kurt, meant more to Blaine Anderson than his own.

He held a bunch of flowers in his hands; freesia's, Kurt's favourite, the small petals curling up like his beautiful smile. They stood for trust, and Blaine knew how important trust was to Kurt, knew how few people Kurt trusted.

Blaine felt so privileged. So lucky, and honoured to be a part of Kurt's small world.

"Kurt?" He said, knocking on the door. "Baby, it's me?"

There was no reply. Perhaps Kurt was having a nap? Blaine knew how important his NYADA application was to him.

"Kurt? I'm coming in?"

Blaine immediately dropped his bouquet.

Kurt was in bed, the covers pulled up just below his trembling chin, but he wasn't sleeping. His special, crystal NYADA application pen was broken on the floor, crushed in two. Spots of, oh _God_ he couldn't even bring himself to say it, flecked the pale blue suede fabric on the front of his special binder. 'Kurt Hummel's Senior Year Schedule' it said, in cursive dark blue script, flecked with a rainbow star. The star peeled away at the edges, mournfully, like Kurt's dreams which seemed to be rapidly vanishing from him.

Blaine knew _exactly_ what had happened. Kurt had been attacked, and not with sticks and stones.

"Kurt?" He said, tentatively. "Kurt, love. What… what happened to you?"

"Him." Kurt responded, small and scared, his voice trembling like a leaf in the wind.

"Who, Kurt. Karofsky?"

Crying messy, broken sobs were punctuated by a fierce shook of Kurt's head. It was the only thing remotely fierce about his beloved right now.

"One of the hockey team?"

Kurt shook his head. Again.

Blaine sat down on the corner of the bed, gently, trying not to touch Kurt's legs. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said, he'd heard them say that in all of those crime procedurals Kurt liked to watch, the ones Blaine knew they would never be able to watch together again, no more sharing a soda while CSI was on, none of the normal things that they'd normally do, and they would be prisoners to this, until... Blaine did not know when. "Let's call an ambulance for you, hey?"

"I… I don't need an ambulance. Blaine, he didn't… I can't believe he did this."

"Who, baby? Who?" He sighed, breaking further and further with each numb, empty word that dripped from his boyfriend's beautiful mouth. "It'll be alright, love heart."

Kurt slammed his fist against the bed and sobbed harder.

Was it something he had said? Love heart?

"L—love heart." Kurt sobbed into his pillow. "Why did he to this to me? I thought he had my back?"

Blaine scratched his head, trying to think of the significance of those stupid fucking love hearts. "Puck? Was it Puck?"

"I…"

"Finn," he called downstairs. "Finn! Call 9-11! Kurt needs an ambulance _now_."

Kurt cried, reached for the glass ornamnent on his nightstand, and hurled it against the wall. Blaine always had an uneasy feeling around Kurt's stepbrother. Beneath that lopsided smile, and the clumsiness, there was something duplicitous and sinister lurking under the edge of him. He would die for Kurt. Die for him. And, on his bed, a pool of coppery blood on the... oh _God_, the football jersey, number five, and how did he only just realize it was Finn who had done this, Kurt was not too far off dying himself. Kurt's blue eyes pierced his soul. The light in there that usually shone had been turned out.

_Finn_. Finn had done this to him. To, to _them_.

Any moment now, Blaine would wake up from this nightmare. Any moment now, any moment now. Any moment now. He repeated it to himself like a mantra, a prayer, to anyone who was up there, but there was nobody up there. Why would there be? There was no God.

"Why did he do this to me?" Kurt said.

Battling down his own emotions, like a ship caught in a storm seeking a calm lake, Blaine squeezed his hand tightly. "It'll be okay. Let me clean you up. Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital? They can take samples, and…"

"He said it was your fault Blaine. That, that you had no right touching what was _his_, and that if he ever saw you touching me again, he'd…"

"He'd what, Kurt?"

"He'd take what was rightfully his. That, that he couldn't have Quinn, and he couldn't have Rachel, and, and… or Santana or girls, and that's why he had to do what he did."

"But he's not gay? I don't understand why...?"

"He said if he... he wanted to ruin me for anyone else. That," Kurt spat out, "none of the _love hearts_ had been in his jar of hearts this valentine's, and he..."

"We have to go to the police, Kurt. We, we have to!"

"I can't. There's no… there's no DNA."

"What, but…" he gestured to the spots of blood on the floor that had come from Kurt's most secret, private place.

Kurt merely curled his hand into a tiny, fierce fist and gestured at it with his other hand, unable to say the words.

_God_. With Finn's hands being as large as they were, he could have _killed him_.

"He, he sung to me. While he was doing it. _She's Got a Way_ by Billy Joel. Said it would drown out the noise of, of, of..."

Oh. _Oh_. His parents had been _home_ when this happened. Watching the game, and laughing, with, with Kurt's demonic monster, his... he was never going to call him a stepbrother again. Blaine ran to the bathroom, his tasty lunch of sushi expelled in wet, messy heaves of pain.

"It's going to be okay, Kurt. It's going to be okay. We'll get your Mom."

"No! Don't get Carole. She'd never believe me, she'd…"

"She's your Mom, Kurt. Of _course_ she would."

But, Blaine Anderson was as intelligent as he was caring, and knew it wouldn't. How could he heal Kurt from the pain? Who would believe him? The popular, affable quarterback versus the delicate, flamboyant gay kid. Nobody would ever believe Kurt hadn't wanted it. Nobody else would ever believe Finn, who had a kind word to say about everyone but him, could be so cruel. Blaine believed it, though. Knew Finn could be cruel, but never knew it would amount to _this_.

"I'm going to get you some water, okay, and then we'll heal you right up."

He walked downstairs to fetch Kurt some water and immediately shuddered as he met Finn's warm brown eyes; there wasn't a hint of anything on his face. Though, that wasn't unusual. Blaine was only just starting to realize why. Had he... done this. To other people. Before?

Finn, that, that monster, raised his glass of milk in the air, and smiled at him, teeth glinting like daggers dripping imaginary blood at him. "Coming down to watch the game, bro?"

A lone, crystal tear dipped down Blaine's face, taste, salty on his tongue, like thick dark forbidden liquor. Blaine hated crying, hated having to show his emotions, wanted to please everyone, but there were some things he could never be pleased by.

"Hey, you think I can _get away with this_ for Sectionals? It's a classic, man, and I'm not cool with swaying in the background." Finn began to sing, all but leering at Blaine. "_Don't know what it is, but I know that I can't live without her_." He turned his head to meet Blaine squarely in the eye, kind brown eyes meeting squinted eyes coloured black with their deceptive evil. "Wow, I thought it was just Rachel who was affected by my singing. Huh. This one's a keeper, all praise the Joel, huh, Blaine?"

Blaine ran off to be sick again. Oh no. No no no. His heart felt heavier than lead and he felt like he was vomiting that up, as well. Would he be next? He felt like a funambulist, drawn between his own personal safety, and his duty to protect his Kurt.

**TBC?**


	2. Chapter 2

Blaine, for once in his young life, did not know what to do. How could he ever get people to believe that Finn Hudson was… he couldn't even say the word!

It had been several weeks since the incident. Kurt had purchased a new sparkly pen for his NYADA application. He had new dreams, maybe better dreams, and plenty. And Blaine would make sure his Kurt had plenty more before this last revolving year was through. Finn had spent a lot of time at Rachel's lately, so perhaps the incident was a one off? Blaine sure hoped so.

He held is boyfriend's hand tightly in his as Glee rehearsal finished. Kurt pressed a chaste kiss to the tip of his nose before breaking away with a smile, saying he had to go and help Burt make some campaign posters for the election. That was Kurt; always thinking of other people.

Blaine had to get going, too. He was working on a scrapbook for Kurt. Sharing their memories, but with plenty of space for new ones.

Then, his breath was ripped out from him as a heavy hand clamped itself down on his clothed shoulder. "Blaine, can you hang around for a sec, bro?

_Finn_. Blaine turned around, seeing the monster appear in his eyes. Yet, to anyone else, they would just appear boyish. And sparkling. But to Blaine, they flowed like muddy waterfalls, beautiful from a distance but ruined from up close.

He wanted to scream _don't leave me alone with him_ but his mouth did not want to work.

"What…. What did you want, Finn?" he asked, tilting his head up, aware of how much bigger the older man was. How much bigger he was _everywhere_, and Blaine did not want to know where that was, particularly.

"Oh, I thought we could rehearse a song together for Sectionals, Blaine!" He chuckled throatily. "Well what else did you think I had in mind?"

Maybe this would be okay? Perhaps? Blaine let himself smile, relief washing over his half-asian features.

"Sounds great! What song did you have in mind?"

"Gotta be _Journey_, dude," Finn said. "Loving," he said, pressing his thigh in between Blaine's, pinning him against the wall clumsily. "Touching," he said, grabbing Blaine's tiny palm in his brutal one. "Squeezing," he said, forcing Blaine's petite palm to feel the angry hardness of his erection.

Blaine gulped. There was a lump in his throat, as large as a lump of sugar, but unlike a lump of sugar, it wouldn't dissolve.

Who could save him now? He spied the fire alarm switch and tried to reach it, stretching his arm out, crying in frustration as Finn's clumsy hands made surprisingly light work of the buttons on his ankle-swinging capri pants.

Blaine trembled, holding out for a hero. But, looking around, the choir room was deserted. Nobody came.

A/N: Sorry it's so short! I have been working on my other stories but wanted to update this anyway. Would love to know if you think I should continue?


End file.
